RR

To Kill My Mother

maybe I should kill my mother.
to forget her thick hands
her fat laughing fingers
the stubborn ring that remains
even after the letters had been burnt.
to forget her voice in the morning
as she makes coffee
talks to the kitchen cupboard and the cat.
to forget the sound of her footsteps
as she gets up for a cigarette at 2 in the morning
eyes half-open and the body somnolent
dragging itself across our dark corridor.
maybe I should kill the cat.
I can imagine her looking for him in the streets at dawn
heavy knees bending, palms pressed to the asphalt
she will not find him under cars
or on our sooted rooftop
by the rising sun she’ll be mourning her feline child,
my mother is convinced he is her own
she will definitely go mad.
but I love her like this
obsessed, anxious, fixing the television.
buying too many oranges, cleaning the back of beds
sorting paper
waiting for my father
I hate her like that.

Contributor
Nourhane Kazak

Nourhane Kazak is a 21 year-old child. She finds experimental poetry both amusing and baffling. This is her muse. On the days when she’s not writing, she’s only half-alive. It usually takes her two Suns and two moons to get over a recently finished poem. She desires to continue writing pieces that are raw, heavy, and unsettling.

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